It had come to the colonel holding a private council, at which the doctor was present to give his opinion how long it would be before the wounded men would be sufficiently strong to undertake a night march and then push on to try and join hands with the nearest post held by our forces.
“If we could feed the lads as they ought to be fed, in about a month,” replied the doctor quietly. “Going on as we are now—never.” The colonel started from his seat. “Do you mean this, Emden?” he said excitedly. “The men’s appearance speaks for itself. It is all the healthy can do to keep body and soul together; the wounded are at a standstill.”
“No, no,” said the colonel warmly; “all of our officers, though certainly weak, have returned to their duty.”
“Yes,” said the doctor; “but then they all partook more of a certain essence than the men do. The poor fellows had done marvellously well, and the more educated, better-class fellows compare wonderfully well with those of a lower station; but there is that difference.”
“And pray what is the wonderful essence, doctor?” said Captain Edwards, smiling.
“Esprit de corps, my dear sir,” said the doctor.
“Well,” cried the colonel, “then you have settled it, doctor. We are not going to surrender.”
“No!” came in chorus.
“We can’t go and leave our weak ones behind.”
“No!” came with double the force.